A Wing And A Prayer (Saints In The Night 6.0)
by Denigoddess2001
Summary: (Gargoyles/ Herc/ Xena) Herc is forbidden by law to travel in time. The law that can't be broken can surely be bent. He enlists the aid of two mortals to retrieve the Chronos Fragments. Demetrius & Wren are in Thrace and it's all Greek to them. They h


06/11/2001  
Saints In The Night Part VI  
  
DISCLAIMER: GARGOYLES DO NOT BELONG TO ME. THEY BELONG TO DISNEY. HERCULES; THE LEGENDARY JOURNEYS AND XENA; WARRIOR PRINCESS BELONG TO RENAISSANCE PICTURES. I'M NOT WRITING THIS FOR MONEY, BUT FOR LOVE OF ALL THREE SHOWS! SO, PLEASE DO NOT SUE.  
  
A WING AND A PRAYER  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Gargoyles. They belong to Disney. I do not own any canon characters from the Xena or Hercverse. Those belong to Renaissance Pictures. I do not own X-Men. They belong to Marvel. Any original characters belong to Denigoddess2001. I am writing this because I love these shows. Please do not sue!!!!  
  
Wren looked around at the crossroads where they stood. She noticed the half-rotted skeleton dangling in the cage above them. She noticed the well-worn cobblestones of the road beneath their feet. The width of the road reached roughly twenty feet in diameter. She noticed the lush foliage at the sides of the road.  
  
"Where are we Wren?" Demetrius asked as he stared upwards. He stared upwards into the sun. "Arrrgh!"  
  
"It's not like the sunlight from Ainran." She saw him cover his eyes. "Rule number one: never stare directly into the sun."  
  
"I concur with that rule gladly, if not regretfully." He rubbed his eyes. The spots danced across his blinded vision. "Where do you think we are?"  
  
"I'm not sure. I'm not an outdoors type-of-person." She rubbed her chin in contemplation. She walked over to the sign that stood beneath the dangling corpse. She looked disdainfully at the corpse above and felt a wave of nausea flood her being. She forced herself to breathe slowly as she studied the strange letters on the sign.  
  
'???????????????????"?The Greek symbols swirled and swam about in her mind's eyes until they became legible script Wren translated.  
  
"Amphipolis 4 Miles." Wren slowly read aloud. "That tells us where we are."  
  
Wren knelt down and more closely examined the cobblestones. They were jagged and uneven. None were cut to form or standard. At best, they were probably broken shards retrieved from the local quarry. "This isn't Roman construction. There's no uniformity to the pieces."  
  
"Thus, the Romans have yet to conquer Greece?" Demetrius surmised.  
  
"Not exactly, that just means that the Romans haven't exercised their influence as of yet." She told the Ebony gargoyle. "Have you watched the show recently on the Warriors and Wizards channel recently?"  
  
"Aye." He admitted sheepishly. "I have watched the television on occasion. I have seen the re-runs of Xena."  
  
"Then you know that Amphipolis is her home town." Wren pointed in the same direction as the sign. That means we're in Thrace."  
  
"Where is Thrace?" Demetrius sounded out the long "a" as though it were a sensual call into the night.  
  
"You haven't become a hard-core nutball fan yet, have you?" She asked with great mirth. "You're not going to survive long in this world, Dem, if you don't know the basics. Xena's home village is Amphipolis located in the province of Thrace. We're in Southwestern Greece."  
  
"How do you know this?" Demetrius' stunned reaction secretly pleased Wren. It was an uncommon occasion to baffle the mentally agile Gargoyle.  
  
"I'm a hard-core nutball." Her ghostly smile seemed to chill him to the bone. "I have many skills and identic memory is one of them."  
  
"Then we must make haste." He agreed. He looked around anxiously and folded his wings about him. "I do not like all this light. It is harsh and we are easily seen."  
  
"I agree." Wren looked at him and at her clothing. "We stand out like a couple of cacti in a rose garden. We need to go native."  
  
"Go native?"  
  
"Dress and act like the indigenous population." She translated. "I look odd and you're even more so."  
  
"Agreed." He pointed upwards. "As long as we do not look him."  
  
She looked skeptically at the corpse and then sardonically at Demetrius. "That was a very bad joke."  
  
"Brevity seldom allows despair any quarter." He replied.   
  
"Now, that we know where we are, we also have to establish WHEN we are." She sighed in frustration. "That makes all the difference in the world."  
  
"Indeed." He said grimly. "What shall we do?"  
  
"We head to Amphipolis and we get some new clothes." Wren motioned to her chocolate business suit. "This isn't exactly making a fashion statement."  
  
"You would look wonderful in nothing at all." He said in a low growl.  
  
"DEMETRIUS!" She resisted the urge to slap his face after she blushed. "Get your mind out of the gutter."  
  
She looked at his hurt expression. Her eyes twinkled with mirth. "There isn't enough room for both our minds in there, you know."  
  
His smile was priceless.  
  
  
Wren and Demetrius made their way into the settlement. Thatched-roof huts and wooden-shingled structures met their eyes. Wren guessed it to be about ten in the morning because of all the venders about in the town square. The smell of fresh bread combined with spring sunshine filled her with an undauntable air of optimism.  
  
Heads turned to stare at the strangers in the bizarre mob. People pointed and stared. Others simply whispered and looked away. Some moved to the other side of the street as the duo passed them. Wren felt the rejection acutely. It was no different than the day her parents found out that she was a mutant.  
  
They accepted her brother Hawk when he told them he was gay. They had no trouble when her sister Robyn became an unwed mother. They though Falcon was the hero of the family when he won several medals for his military service in Mahkerstan in 2003. Yet, they disowned her when they found out she was a mutant.  
  
Then her parents died. There was no reconciliation. There was no healing. There was only the permanent stain of their rejection upon her memory. It was no different with these simple peasant folk. They became frighten by what they didn't understand.  
  
Most of the business had simple signs depicting their goods and services. Wren spotted a vendor near the end of the bazaar that bore a sign sporting a tunic. "That's where we need to go."   
  
"Why there, Wren?"  
  
"Clothing." She shook her head. "We have no money."  
  
"Do they recognize gold and gems as legal tender?"   
  
"In this time they do. However, we'd be better off with dinars." Wren's worried tone concerned Demetrius. Rarely did she fret as much as she did at this moment.  
  
They made their way to the merchant's shop. As they walked inside, Wren's delight grew. She saw dresses on hangers from the rafters. There were fresh foodstuffs of dry rations and other smoked foods. Sun-dried fruits and their sweets aromas filled the small shop. There was a hint of lilac incense in the air.   
  
Wren spotted a woman with stooped stature at the back counter. Her clothes seemed to be made of course gray wool. Her hair was white and yellowed with age. Her features were gaunt and her wrinkles were deep from many years of life. She slowly approached the woman. Those ancient brown eyes looked at her and narrowed.  
  
"Well met, Ma'am." Wren's accent sounded harsh and foreign to her ears and tried to tame the ancient Greek tongue.  
  
"G'mornin.'" The beldame replied. "What are ya loookin' fo'?"  
  
"We are in need of new clothing." She replied. "I find that our current garments carry too much dust from the road."  
  
"Where'd ya come from?" The old woman eyed them suspiciously.  
  
"Athens." Said Wren while Demetrius said "Potideia."  
  
"Which?" Her brows furrowed together.  
  
"I am from Athens and my friend is from Poteideia." The mutant explained. "We wish to meet here before we continue East."  
  
"What ya lookin' for?'  
  
What did one wear in ancient Greece? To wear a simple tunic or dress provided little protection against the god of war. With a little luck, perhaps more information would come their way. Wren felt a strong, sharp tingling in her hands as though they had fallen asleep. She was mortified to find that they were beginning to glow. She quickly hid them behind their back.  
  
[Not now!] She thought desperately. She quickly hid her hands behind her back.  
  
"Look out!" The old woman cried and violently shoved Wren to the side. Wren heard a creak in the rafters above her. She watched in horrid fascination as some armor swung from it's hanging place for a millisecond then dropped quickly to the ground.  
  
Wren studied the armor carefully. It was woman's armor the color slate gray. The neckline was cut to a halter style and ornate with several small spikes on the bodice. The breastplate was an intricate working of Celtic knot work and two Asian dragons. The skirt was similar to that of standard Roman issue. The flaps on the skirt were each adorned with a single flat silver disk.  
  
[Holy Guacamole!] Wren fell in love with it at once. "What size?"  
  
The old woman's steely gaze ran the length of Wren's body. "It'll fit ya. For a few extra dinars, we'll throw in some gauntlets and some decent boots. Interested?"  
  
"Of course." Wren replied excitedly. "How much?"  
  
"200 dinars for the armor, 25 dinars for the bracers and 10 dinars for the boots." The woman seemed to cackle.  
  
"Too much for used items." Wren scoffed. I won't pay 235 dinars for this armor. I make you an offer of 200 dinars."  
  
"Ya know, that armor's said to have belonged to the Warrior Princess herself." The old woman grumbled. "I can't take less than 225."  
  
"I don't think so." Wren quipped. "Lu- I mean The Warrior Princess stood over six feet tall. Try again."  
  
"Know her, do ya?" The woman's one good eye stared at her harshly.  
  
"Better than some, not as well as others." She replied cryptically. "Will you take trade?"  
  
"Cold had coinage, nothing else!" The woman declared. "You ain't go no money, you ain't go no armor."  
  
"Milady Merchant, perchance this may well sweeten the pot." Demetrius said smoothly as he slid one of his armbands from his upper arm. "With it's inlay of amethyst and mother-of-pearl in solid gold, this should be worth at least 600 dinars."  
  
"By the gods, that's a chunky piece." Her eyes became wider than saucers. "I don't carry that kind of change around here."  
  
"We'll take most in trade." He kindly offered. "If there are a few dinars left, we'd just like the change."  
  
"Let me see that." She cackled gleefully. He offered it to her with his hand firmly remaining on the expensive jewelry. He watched with great amusement as the toothless old hag attempted to use her remaining good teeth to test the metal's softness and authenticity.  
  
"It's gold all right." She guffawed. "All right, Monster, you have yerself a deal. I can let ya have up to 100 dinars in cash and the rest in trade."  
  
"Demetrius!" Wren hissed. "You can't do that, that armband is priceless! You've had it since I've known you."  
  
"It was a gift from King Kenneth of Scotland for rescuing his daughter from a bog once upon on time." He explained. "It has little sentimental value for me and I have no need of gold. Thus, Milady, we must use what is available to clothe ourselves."  
  
"You're not going to give away the other one are you?" She asked. "They become you."  
  
"Wren, whatever it takes to keep us sheltered and our bellies full, that I will do with haste." With those words he gave the old woman another nod. "Milady is to receive the boots, bracers, and the armor for 200 dinars in trade. Agreed?"  
  
"Agreed." The old woman almost danced a jig at her good fortune.  
  
"Swear by the river Styx." Demetrius added.  
  
"Sure, by the river Styx." She went off into the back of the store to hide her newest treasure.  
  
Within the hour, they secured a large velvet cloak that fit Demetrius very well. He found a good two-handed bastard sword that felt right in his hands and a good scabbard. He decided it prudent to choose armor for himself. He thought his appearance may discourage potential opponanents, but it never hurt to be prepared.  
  
"Ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred dinars." One clink followed another as the old woman counted the last of the coins. "It's been a pleasure doing business with ya."  
  
Demetrius bowed graciously to the elder woman. She tittered and giggled at such a valiant display of manners. Wren merely nodded a final greeting. They had one hundred dinars left between them.  
  
"Milady, what do we do next?" He asked her.  
  
"Well, we're outfitted well." She responded. "I suggest that we find Cyrene's tavern. According to the few words the old woman said, Xena seems to be alive and well."  
  
"How do you know this for certain?"  
  
"She asked me if I knew her." Wren reminded him. "That would imply that she is still alive."  
  
They walked leisurely along the dusty street of Amphipolis. Wren and Demetrius looked about for signs and indications of a tavern. Demetrius almost bumped his head of a wooden sign carved in the shape of a shield. Burned into the wood were an axe and several drops of blood. He noticed swinging doors and noise from inside the building.  
  
"Demetrius, you can't help it if you're good." Wren gave him a grin. "Pull your cloak around you and follow my lead."  
  
"As you wish, Milady." He smiled. He was pleased to see Wren's growing confidence.  
  
They walked through the swinging doors into the tavern. Wren eyed the place and saw that there were a few Greek mercenaries drinking at the bar. She and the Gargoyle saw a few eyes meet theirs and then return to their drinks. Wren scouted for a second entrance and found one at the back of the bar.  
  
They found a table and sat down.   
  
"The bar isn't burnt to the ground." Wren whispered softly to her companion. "That means it's before sixth season."  
  
"Six season?" His confusion was obvious.  
  
"In the sixth season, Xena and Gabrielle were frozen for thirty-five years." She explained. Wren cautiously eyed the area so that no unneeded ears heard their conversation. "Cyrene was burned at the stake as a witch."  
  
"What can I get for you fine warriors?" A pleasant voice cut into their tête-à-tête.   
  
Wren leaned back and found vividly bright blue eyes staring at her. Heavy, sooty lashes framed them. The woman awaiting their order had soft chocolate curls falling about her shoulders. Wren guessed by her face and fine character lines that she was a woman in her late forties. She still carried a flame of beauty. Only two women had eyes that rare: Xena and Cyrene.  
  
"I'd like a glass of your house wine." Wren managed to find her voice.   
  
"For you, Sir?" Cyrene turned her attention to the cloaked figure.   
  
"The same." He replied gruffly and turned to cough.  
  
"Good enough." Cyrene replied.  
  
Within minutes, they sat quietly sipping their wine. The feel of the air was different. The smells certainly weren't car exhaust and chemicals. Rather, the fresh air mingled with baking bread, ale, manure, hay, and brewing stew.  
  
"It isn't quite what I expected." Wren admitted. "I just thought it would be more like the show, vivid and colorful. This is rather dirty."  
  
"It is not unlike the village around Castle Wyvern. Perhaps the garments are more suited to a Southern Climate. It is similar to what I remember." He looked around the bar. "It also seems that you are drawing quite the attention, Milady."  
  
"You've been to Greece?" She was dumbfounded. "I never knew that."  
  
"I was Princess Katherine's play mate and bodyguard." He said quietly. "I traveled with her and King Kenneth throughout Europe."  
  
"How old are you exactly not counting the thousand year hiatus?" She asked warily.  
  
"Before my death in 994, I witnessed 48 winters." He gingerly sipped his wine.  
  
"Human years that would put you at 24 years." She hadn't considered his approximate age. "I was right, technically you are younger than I am."  
  
"Well, well." A heavy, wheezing voice interrupted their quiet dialogue. "Ain't you just the prettiest thing? What's your name, Sugar?"  
  
Wren turned to see a rather large, burly man with ale-stained breath hovering over her. The stench of his unclean body encouraged Wren's knee-jerk reaction to wretch. She managed to suppress the urge.  
  
"I'm involved in a private conversation and I'm not really interested in talking with you." She replied politely and returned to attention to Demetrius.  
  
"Sugar, I really don't give a rat's arse about your big black buck. What's your name?" His presence sent chills though her blood. She thought her veins were freezing with each word the barbarian spoke. The skin pelts he wore reeked of death.  
  
"Milady has urged you to begone, Sirrah." Demetrius removed his hood to reveal his gracefully spiraling horn, pointed ears and glowing lavender orb. Then, he grinned flashing those pointed canines that Wren lovingly called fangs. The growl sounding like that of a lion rumbled deep in his chest. "Leave the lady be."  
  
The pot-bellied man took a step back and held up his hands. "I'll -I'll j-j-ust be on my way. You all have a good day night."  
  
Wren let her shoulders slump with relief as the unsavory character went elsewhere. She glanced at Demetrius with wide hazel eyes. She turned her gaze to the large oaf scurrying his way out the door of the tavern.  
"Was that wise?"  
  
"Aye, Milady." He nodded. "I've little wish to engage in combat so shortly upon our arrival to this time."  
  
"I can't dispute that." She sighed. "We need to find Ares. Let's observe for awhile and then if we don't find out anything, we ask directions."  
  
"Neither seen nor heard?"  
  
"Something along those lines." Wren finished the last of her wine. Cyrene came to their table just at that moment.  
  
"Would you care for another glass of wine?"  
  
"Thank-you, good lady, but no." Wren placed her hand over the top of her goblet. "We are strangers to Amphipolis. Does this tavern also have an inn for lodging?"  
  
"We do. Two dinars a night will buy you a room." She said kindly.  
"Four dinars for two."  
  
"Do you have one available?" She asked. She heard Demetrius' goblet clatter. She stifled her giggle as he spurted his wine back to the table in pure, unadulterated disbelief.  
  
"Talk to Roomicles at the bar, he'll give you a key." She pointed to the west. "Take those stairs and your key number will correspond to your room."  
  
"Thank you." Wren rose and her hand fell automatically to her side weapon.  
  
"I've only seen a weapon like that once." Cyrene noticed sharply.  
  
"It's not a chakrum. Their a bit smaller." She explained hurriedly.   
  
"We don't see weapons like that in these parts often. What's your name?"  
  
"Wren Summers." She offered. "You're Cyrene?"  
  
"Rensumeres." She played over the name giving it a decidedly Greek pronunciation. "An unusual name for a woman."  
  
"And I am Demetrius, good lady." Demetrius nodded hoping to draw away Cyrene's awareness. "We shall take our room now. Come, Wren."  
  
He offered her his arms and she looked at him strangely. The talked to Roomicles and secured lodging for the evening. As they ascended the stairs, they remained silent. Once in the room, Demetrius locked the door and removed his heavy velvet cloak.  
  
"What was that all about?" She asked. "I could have found out more from her."  
  
"She was noticing things about you that are best kept discreet." He told her. "Your weapon draws attention as does your name. It is best to speak little of yourself so that Ares knows nothing. We are two against a god who has many minions."  
  
"You have a point."  
  
To be continued............  



End file.
